


Worth Keeping

by Arithanas



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 06:03:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20003515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: John Munch got his bar and more than he had bargained for.





	Worth Keeping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ApexOnHigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApexOnHigh/gifts).



John Munch had finally gotten his bar. It took him years to scrape together enough from his two pensions to own property in one of the most expensive cities in the world, but he was now the proud owner of his own watering hole. He made a point of not making it a cop bar. All the paraphernalia from his glory days were kept away from the eyes of the public in a small office in the back. He didn’t discourage the boys in blue from coming in, but when they came, they did it in their civvies.

His favorite patron kept an irregular schedule. Munch had been in the other man's boots for too many years to be surprised when he turned up before the bar was open or stayed well beyond closing time. John passed time with him as he had done for years: sitting across from him.

The place was small, but it only took him a month to get the kind of clientele that keeps business like his alive. A party of old-timers monopolizes the poker table on Tuesdays and Thursdays, keeping their whistles wet with punctuality worthy of a Swiss watch. Their tab was always promptly paid and none of them ever caused any problems. A competitive gaggle of college students needed a place to practice their cue skills and they hoarded the pool table during low-traffic hours. Munch was amused when they insisted on keeping their own billiards sets on hand with their spares and discards left for the rest of the clientele. Granted, the leftover equipment had seen heavy action, but the occasional couple of bikers who used them never minded. Though they mangled the rules of pool, John quickly discovered their tabs were nothing to sneeze at.

There were nights, particularly the nights after a heavy case had been closed, when a man needs to simply turn off his brain and have a beer. Munch could tell it was that kind of night when his most faithful patron was drawn to the pool table. On those nights the cues and the triangle made a discreet appearance and the two of them shoot balls in silence. There was no use in trying to pry professional secrets out of his friend, now that John was out of the established system, but the conspiracist in John could read the toll on his friend by how big a margin his friend lost to him by.

One day, a delivery arrived at John Munch’s business when Munch was otherwise engaged with the District Attorney's Office affairs. The usual bartender took the delivery and, by the time Munch had returned to oversee his little kingdom, the clientele was already taken with the old jukebox. There was no note attached to the thing, but that old piece of junk could only have been salvaged from a police auction.

“Don’t pretend to be mad,” his favorite patron said in lieu of a greeting the next time they crossed paths at the bar. The sound of an old ballad coming from the jukebox made the sting of his words worse. “I won’t buy it. Besides, it gives the place a touch of nostalgia that fits you well.”

There was no arguing against that sentiment. By way of gratitude, Munch put a cold one in front of his friend and sat to hear the tales of the streets that sooner or later would come, prompted by an old song. It was just bound to happen.

Some weeks his favorite patron didn’t come at all. The first time, John Munch had found himself looking at the door each time a cold breeze entered the place like a forlorn maiden in her youth. Of course, he was waiting, but hell would freeze over before John Munch would fess up to the fact that he missed Fin Tutuola.

“We are chasing a killer john,” Fin said to John over the phone when the tenth night had rolled over without Fin paying John a visit. It was raining cats and dogs. “Liv is going out of her mind.”

“Do you think I was worried about you?”

“No, you old duck!” Fin Tutuola sounded incensed. “I’m telling you because you need to be on your toes! The creep roams bars!”

“Oh, right,” John smiled at the familiar banter. “Give me a description to watch out for and go find the bastard.”

The unit found their man the next morning, but that didn’t stop John from feeling well cared for. Maybe even loved.

The next time Fin was away for too long John kept his eyes on the phone, but the man appeared, covered in snow. He sat down at the bar gingerly, molasses ran faster. The stress on Fin's face was hard to bear. John put a cold one in front of him; no man needed a beer more than Odafin Tutuola did that night.

“I’ve been over at Mercy, John,” Fin said after a couple of long sips.

“Guarding a victim?”

“Keeping Ken in one piece.” Fin looked at John with unspent tears in his eyes. “Jaden's got pneumonia.”

John couldn’t have been more shocked had lightning struck near his feet. How had he kept his bearings? That was one of the infinite mysteries John Munch would never dare explore if he could help it. John just pulled his stool closer and wished he could find the right words.

“It was touch-and-go for a while,” Fin reported. His eyes were trained on the gleam of the lights reflecting off of the lip of his bottle. “I have seen Ken hurt before, but this time I…” Fin let out a deep sigh. “I just can’t.”

“But you stayed with them,” John mumbled, knowing full well that Fin would jump through hoops of fire for that baby. “You are a great grandpa.”

“Fuck you, Munch,” Fin spat with a small chuckle. He hadn’t learned how to take the G-word with grace.

“No, fuck you!” Munch retorted. That curse brought a wave of relief that took John by surprise. “You should have called me.”

Fin shook his head. “You have your work. You have the bar.”

“If I can make time to babysit for Liv, I could have found the time to be there.”

Fin raised his eyes from the bottle and looked into John’s eyes. He was exhausted, emotionally drained, but there was hidden steel behind that gaze that had kept the man together through all of those taxing days. John liked that about Fin more with each heartbeat he held Fin’s gaze.

“Yeah. I know.” Fin shrugged with one shoulder. “I know you would be there for me.”

Munch nodded and opened another bottle. That night, Fin would sleep in John’s apartment. Munch would see to it his friend would get enough rest tonight.

“Always.”

John Munch had a bar. It took him the better part of two pensions to get it to be just like he wanted it to be. But it was Fin Tutuola who made it worth keeping.

**Author's Note:**

> K. chased all the glaring mistakes in this fic.


End file.
